


Remember Me

by WeShouldSpoon



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Amnesia, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Medical Inaccuracies, Useless Lesbians, no beta we die like men, oh god I hate posting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-23
Updated: 2020-03-20
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:28:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23224015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WeShouldSpoon/pseuds/WeShouldSpoon
Summary: “At first, it was just little things,” Leliana sighed, running her hand over her face. “Ten minutes out from camp, we would have to turn back because Elissa forgot the treaties, a gauntlet, or even her sword. I fear that, after defeating the Archdemon, she went on her mission and simply… forgot.”Herah's stomach dropped. “Forgot what?” She wasn't sure she wanted to know the answer.“Everything.”
Relationships: Female Adaar/Sera, Female Cousland/Leliana (Dragon Age), Female Inquisitor/Sera, Leliana/Female Warden (Dragon Age)
Kudos: 32





	Remember Me

**Author's Note:**

> if you read the title to the tune of recuérdame from coco, you are not alone lmao
> 
> hope you enjoy! more notes at the end

She arrived later that week.

Leliana’s scouts came a candlemark before the call sounded, rushing to warn her about the woman the Chargers found. The mercenary band sent a letter almost a week prior, detailing a consistently unconscious blonde woman with blue eyes and a knack for almost dying. She was found injured and bleeding out near the outskirts of the Hinterlands, closer to Redcliffe than the Frostbacks. They gave her to the people of the city so they could deal with her, but as they were leaving, they were stopped by Teagan’s men, who were in the possession of the injured woman and a letter. The Arl himself wrote that they needed to take her to Skyhold as quickly as possible, so the Chargers complied.

Now, with a letter from the Arl and the Chargers, Leliana was frantic, in her own way. Herah could see it in the way she spoke, her accent getting heavier and easier to misunderstand- a huge red flag considering how she often concealed her accent during her time as a bard. She kept to herself, and though it wasn't rare, even Josephine was concerned. Leliana didn’t show up for their tea, something that Josephine cherished and that Leliana rarely missed. Josephine expressed her concerns to Herah about her Spymaster not sleeping, barely eating. If the woman arriving was who Herah thought it was, she knew Leliana would be anxious, but killing herself would do no good.

  
Herah was on her way up the stairs to lecture the spymaster for her self-neglect when the call for friendlies ricocheted off the walls of Skyhold. She figured it was the Chargers, and was surprised that they had gotten back so quickly. Then again, it was the Chargers, and they were her most efficient team. Especially since Bull went with them.

  
Herah darted out the door to the main hall, Solas raising a brow at her haste before shifting his attention back to his studies. The sound of the door banging against the wall startled a few guests, and they stared like they always did as she sprinted outside. A Vashoth running always seemed to be intimidating, (not that they would call her anything but Qunari) especially considering Herah was generally a casual no-need-for-haste kind of person and therefore wasn't seen running often, but she wanted to make it before Leliana. If the spymaster saw the woman and it didn't turn out to be the Warden, or even if it was, Herah didn't know what would happen. Or worse- Herah needed to make it before the residents figure out who, exactly, just walked through the gates.

  
There was a small crowd around the gates, but no more than the usual curious onlookers who normally showed up when someone arrived. Herah could see the Chargers across the bridge, far enough away that she couldn't completely make them out but close enough that she recognized them.

  
The onlookers let out noises of surprise when Herah went sprinting out of the opening gates. She knew acting strangely could give herself away, but she figured it was worth the risk.

  
“Inquisitor!” Krem shouted from on top of his horse. The mount snorted and pulled to a stop, tossing his head in annoyance. Herah recognized the testy brown gelding, ironically named Sweetheart, and was mildly confused; why would they bring an irritable mount when the Inquisition has so many to choose from? She got her answer when Krem stroked the horse’s neck, immediately calming him, before hopping off with a grunt.

  
“Where's the fire?” he joked. Herah smirked.

  
“I wish I knew. Do you know how hard it is to start fires up here?” She continued past him, gesturing for him to follow as she spoke.

  
“Don't we know it,” Krem grumbled, smacking Dalish in the leg as they passed. “If only someone could just conjure up some fire so we didn’t have to spend an hour trying to start one.”

  
“Yes, if only we knew someone like that,” Dalish sneered back, attempting to kick him in the head.

  
“Boss!” Herah heard him before she saw him (which was rare considering how much of him there was to see.) Bull came lumbering around the edge of the supply wagon, already dismounted. “Come out to meet us? You shouldn't have.”

  
“Bull,” Herah began carefully, looking around at the different mounted Chargers and the lack of a new face. “I thought we got some new gear?” Herah asked quietly, giving him a look that meant to keep the conversation from being too obvious to listening ears. Him and possibly Krem were the only ones outside of herself and her war council that saw the letter from the Arl. Herah wasn't taking any chances. Unsurprisingly, Bull picked up on it.

  
“Yep!” he put a hand on the wagon. “Got it all right here. Could use a TLC, in my opinion."

  
Herah translated in her head. The Hero of Ferelden was in the wagon, injured bad enough that she wouldn’t be fully functional were they to get her out. So they wouldn't be able to just shove a hood over her head and walk her into the healer’s den. They needed to be able to remove her from the wagon quickly and relocate her somewhere without too many people noticing.

  
“Put it all in a sack, by the way. Makes it easier to carry,” Bull continued, pressing. Herah thought they were being a little obvious, and if Bull was being obvious, then they needed to move her quickly. Herah had an idea.

  
“Okay, bring everything into Skyhold. Bull, take the new equipment into my quarters and I'll meet you up there. You can bring someone with you if it’s too heavy.” She doubted there was anything he couldn't pick up, but she was hoping he would take Stitches. She needed a healer that she could trust- or at least one that Bull trusted.

  
“Stitches, you’re with me,” Bull commanded. Without even a confused glance, Stitches hopped off his horse, handing the reins to Krem before lumbering over to Bull’s side. He had probably helped to take care of the Hero.

“Need me to take everything in?” Krem asked, shifting his grip on the leather from the horse.

  
“As always, Krem de la Créme. Don't forget to check in with Morris.”

  
“Actually,” Herah interjected. “Bring the wagon as close as you can to the main hall. We can figure it out from there.”

  
Bull turned to her. “You got it. Meet you there?”

  
Herah nodded and smiled back before spinning on her heel and running back to Skyhold. She could hear the Chargers readying on their mounts behind her. Herah ran a hand through her loose hair, distracting herself from the thought of the Hero of Ferelden dying before she could even meet her.

  
Solas raised a judgemental brow once again when she walked into his area. She smiled at him and he couldn't help but smile back, shaking his head and leaving her alone. Herah paced in front of the door, a nervous habit she really needed to break, as she contemplated her current situation.

  
The Hero of Ferelden was injured. The Hero of Ferelden had been missing on an unknown mission for approximately ten years. If that mission turned out to be something nefarious, Herah didn't know if she could even do anything about it. In addition to all that, as Leliana had mentioned, the Hero of Ferelden had memory issues. To what extent, Herah did not know. She would have to figure it out when the Warden regained consciousness.

  
“We got the stuff, Boss,” Bull announced from behind her. She turned to see Krem waving goodbye from outside the door and Bull standing inside with a lumpy sack tucked in his arm, Stitches at his side.

  
Herah smiled gratefully. “Good. Follow me.”

  
She didn’t hear any change in Bull’s usual gait, a testament to his strength that he was unfazed by an adult human’s weight even as he trudged up the stairs to the library. She got nothing more than a few strange looks in there until Dorian saw their little parade and decided he had to comment.

  
“What have we here?” he smirked, sliding in front of Herah. “Finally decided to use the oaf as a pack mule, Inquisitor?”

  
Herah couldn't help but be amused, but she didn't have time for this.

  
“Not the time, Dorian,” Herah admonished, pushing past him. He huffed in annoyance at the dismissal, but Iron Bull whispered something as he went past and Dorain was satisfied again, preening with a smug smile on his face.

  
The main hall was going to be the worst part, Herah realized as she pushed the door open. Every Orlesian in their fancy masks turned to stare and gossip, because of course they did. Stitches grunted in annoyance at the attention. Herah was inclined to agree, but she held herself casually. She was still brisk on their way to her quarters, however.

  
“Put her on the bed,” Herah murmured as she held open the door, glad she was tall enough to speak near Bull’s head. Bull didn’t acknowledge the command, but Herah was sure he heard.

  
Once Stitches passed, Herah looked around to make sure no one was following then shut and locked the door, following the two mercenaries up the stairs.  
Bull gently set the sack down on the huge bed, quickly extracting the body from the bag. Herah gaped slightly at the woman who was left.

  
She wasn’t particularly tall, about the same size as Cassandra, with dirty blonde hair put back in a messy braid and clothing commonly worn under armor. She still had shoulder pads, greaves, and gauntlets, so the chest plate must have been removed. Blood crusted a hole in her shirt over her stomach, and Herah could see the red of irritated skin underneath. Her face was pale, almost deathly so, and sweat drenched her temples. Her body was mostly still but for the tremors that occasionally wracked it.

  
“What happened?” Herah worried, crossing her arms lest they fidget anxiously.

  
Stitches sprung into action, ripping off his gloves and placing one calloused hand on the woman’s head. He frowned further at whatever he felt. “She’s worse.”

  
Bull shook his head. “Found her with a knife in her gut. We pulled it out but she wouldn't stop bleeding. Had to give her a tonic to close up the wound. No idea how someone caught the Hero of Ferelden point blank from the front, though.”

  
“I think the blade was poisoned. Her blood wasn’t clotting at all,” Skinner added, unbuckling the woman’s sparse armor.

  
"Was probably Vetaash-Kos.”

  
Herah’s ears twitched in confusion, her nose crinkling. “What?”

  
“I thought you knew Qunlat, Boss?” Bull queried, turning to her with a smile that said he knew exactly what he just said.

  
“I do,” Herah confirmed. She learned it when she was with the Valo-Kas. “But if you said what I think you said, she was poisoned with Nature Sex.”

  
"Exactly! It's a plant that increases blood flow and helps people,” he waggled his eyebrows, “do the do.”

  
Herah raised a brow of her own. “And that poisoned the Hero?”

  
“When concentrated enough, it can prevent blood from clotting. Helps if you want someone to bleed out slowly, or if you want to scare the shit out of 'em. Seeing endless blood pour from a wound is terrifying for anyone.” His expression switched from bloodlust to grim seriousness. “Most tonics can cancel out its effects, but if we only closed over the wound, then she could be soup on the inside. Not good.”

  
Stitches growled in disgust, tossing the Hero’s last greave to the ground. “No shit, that’s not good. Hand me a knife.”

  
Herah reached into the desk beside her bed, pulling out a drawer. Inside, a dagger rattled against the wood. She quickly pulled it out and turned to hand it to Stitches, only to see Bull about to hand him his giant battle axe.

  
“Bull!” Herah shouted.

  
He blinked incredulously at her. “What?”

  
“You can't use an axe the size of a human _on_ a human!”

  
He scoffed but before he could protest, Stitches snatched the dagger out of Herah’s hand and tore through the Hero’s undershirt and bandeau. The sound of ripping threads filled the room and her chest was exposed. There was no room for modesty when in the face of death. Stitches swiped the knife quickly across the woman’s wound. It wasn't a deep cut but it was enough to make it bleed- not that it was hard to sever the paper-thin skin that resulted from closing a wound with a tonic. The Hero’s brow furrowed in her unconsciousness, but she didn't wake.

  
Stitches opened his aid bag and pulled out a cloth, pressing it over the wound.

  
“If she stops bleeding, the poison is out of her system,” Stitches explained, patiently holding the cloth in place. Herah gnawed on her lower lip.

  
“She woke up once on the way here. I had to hold her down and force feed her a sleeping tonic before she hurt herself,” Bull admitted, sighing. “The fever must have gone to her head.”

  
“Did she say anything?” Herah queried, watching as Stitches pulled the cloth off the wound. He sighed in relief when it didn't bleed further, and Herah felt a similar relief relax a minuscule amount of tension in her shoulders.

  
“No. She was almost completely silent. It was creepy,” Bull grunted.

  
The tension returned.

  
Suddenly, Herah felt herself being turned around and met face-to-face with furious blue eyes.

  
“Why didn’t you get me?” Leliana hissed, her lips curled into a snarl. Herah felt fear, cold and debilitating, sliver up her spine, a snake coiling around the ridges of bone and preparing to strike. She had never seen the spymaster so angry, but Herah couldn’t afford to react. She needed to keep a level head, here.

  
“We needed to get her somewhere safe and secluded to treat her injuries as quickly as possible,” Herah spoke carefully, witnessing Leliana grow more and more chastised as she spoke. “I’m sorry that I didn't get you.”

  
“No, no,” Leliana demurred, letting go of Herah and backing up. She pushed into the bridge of her nose with her index finger and her thumb then drew them to the sides, under her eyes then down her cheeks. “My apologies. Your reasoning is sound.”

  
Herah placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. “She’ll be alright. We’ll fix her up.”

  
Leliana’s eyes glistened and Herah thought she might cry, so she politely turned away. She was sure Leliana didn’t want people to see her cry. She looked up to see Bull keeping his gaze down the same time that she heard Leliana gasp behind her, no doubt seeing the state of her lover. Quick and light, Leliana rushed to her side, dropping to her knees beside the bed with a choked sob.

“I'm here, my love,” she whispered, gently brushing her hair out of her sweaty face. “I’m here.”

  
Stitches opened his mouth, probably to reprimand the redhead, but shut it and shook his head, deciding he would just work around her. His deft fingers prodded softly around the wound, pressing into the swell that was stark against the woman’s toned torso. “Unfortunately,” Stitches began, wiping his hands on a towel. “Her skin closed over the infection. It’s trapped inside. We’re going to have to open her up to clean it out.”

Herah clenched her jaw. _Just can’t catch a break, can we?_ Their stories were similar, the Hero's and hers. A regular person, worshipped like a god, facing the disappointment of thousands should she fail. She felt a strange sort of kinship with the unconscious woman.

  
“What do you need?” Bull asked, setting his battle axe on the ground and already walking to the staircase.

  
“Cloth, clean water, elfroot, and blankets. Bring Krem to help carry as much as possible.”

  
Herah saw Leliana bury her face in the bed out of the corner of her eye.

  
Herah hated feeling useless. “What should I do?” It was more of a plea than a request.

  
“Get a mage that you trust- one that won't blow her up,” Stitches advised, arranging all of his tonics. “Just in case…” His gaze darted over to Leliana and he lowered his voice. “Just in case anything goes wrong.”

  
Herah nodded and ran after Bull down the stairs and out of her quarters. He veered out of the main hall while she ran right into the library, then out the other end out of the other end. She loved Dorian, but she knew he had more combat magic than he had healing. Also, he had chronic big mouth. She dashed up more stairs to wear Vivienne stood, surveying the ground like a queen looked over peasants.

  
“Vivienne, come with me,” Herah commanded, hopefully leaving no room for question as she spun on her heel and ran back out. Fortunately, she heard Vivienne’s footsteps behind her. Bull and Krem ran through the main hall to them, their arms laden with supplies. She quickly unlocked the door and let them in before turning to Vivienne, halting her outside.

  
“There is a very injured and very important woman in there who needs your help. There is also a terrifying and borderline hysterical woman in there who can not be provoked further. I trust you will be professional?”

  
Vivienne made a noise of affirmation (though she looked slightly indignant at the suggestion that she wouldn't be professional.)

  
“Can I trust that nothing leaves this room before we can figure out how to release this to the public?”

  
A nod and Herah stepped aside, letting them past. Once again, she checked for followers before closing the door, only to run almost directly into Vivienne.

  
“May I ask who, exactly this is woman is before I possibly put myself in danger to save her?” Vivienne quizzed. Herah expected her to have questions and didn't bother not answering truthfully. It seemed like the Enchanter always knew.

  
“The Hero of Ferelden.”

  
She saw Vivienne’s eyebrows raise in surprise but Herah stepped past her, scrambling up the stairs.

  
Stitches had his equipment ready, bottles of tonics, alcohol, suturing supplies, and a couple of tools Herah didn't recognize, along with the several buckets of water and blankets, a generous pile of elfroot, and giant wads of cloth Krem and Bull brought. Krem was leaving just as Herah walked up, so she caught him by the shoulder.

  
“Can you clear out the main hall the best you can?” Krem got a spark of mischief in his eye and Herah smiled. “I don't care how, and I don't care who helps, I just need it done.”

  
Krem saluted lazily and smirked “Consider it done, Inquisitor,” then walked out, dodging Vivienne.

  
Bull moved to leave with him but Stitches stopped him.

  
“I need you to help hold her down. This is not going to be pleasant, but I'm sure you can handle it.” He turned to Herah as well. “Both of you.”

  
She grimaced and he rolled his eyes.

  
“ _You_ don't have to hold her down, I just need you to be my constant stream of supplies,” he explained.

  
Herah nodded hesitantly and positioned herself by the side of the bed, next to Leliana. The redhead looked up at her, her jaw clenching and her nose red from shed tears. Herah felt a rush of sympathy, but she knew Leliana would just take it as pity, so she kept her mouth shut.

  
“Bull, help me lift her. Inquisitor, when she’s lifted, slide a blanket under.” Herah nodded and jogged over to the blankets, rushing back just as the two lifted the Hero’s prone body; underneath the limp woman, Herah spread a blanket as well as she could.

  
Once she was settled back down, Stitches gripped the dagger Herah had given him and started giving out orders. “Bull, hold her legs and hips down, I don't want her thrashing and skewering herself on a knife.” Bull gave a salute similar to Krem’s and Stitches moved on to Vivienne. “Mage, if an organ is bleeding too much, stop it from bleeding. I don't care how, just get it down without injuring her further. If she starts dying, heal her so she doesn't. It may trap the infection inside and we would have to start over again, but that’s fine- better late than dead.” Vivienne was obviously perturbed by being ordered around again, but nodded nonetheless. “Inquisitor, be ready to hand me any supplies I need, no questions, no hesitation.” Herah agreed by his side. Stitches looked to the head of the bed. “Spymaster…” He trailed off, not needing to finish because Leliana already seemed to be in place.

  
She cradled her lover’s head against her stomach, wrapping her legs over the Hero’s arms to keep them from moving. Distraught pain flooded her eyes, a hazy sort of familiarity in the way she pinned the Hero down. Herah felt her heart wrench at the agony mixed with overwhelming affection in the Spymaster’s expression. Unfortunately, she knew what that look meant. Herah had seen it in her mother, who had to kill to keep her safe. Leliana had done this before. Leliana had hoped it was the last time. That hope was wrenched from Leliana's grasp. Hope was fleeting enough already, but to have it, just for it to be taken away?

  
“You’ve got it covered,” Stitches rasped, affected by the scene like everyone else, though they all tried to hide it. Even Vivienne had to look away. The healer cleared his throat and people got into positions.

  
“Okay, on the count of three,” Stitches prepared the room after soaking his hands and knife in one of the buckets of water. He angled it against the Hero’s skin.  
“One.”

  
Vivienne's hands glowed.

  
“Two.”

  
Bull and Leliana tightened their grips.

  
“Three.”

  
A sickening shluk as his knife pierced her skin. It went deeper than when he swiped it across, opening rather than testing. Herah almost jumped when the Hero’s body suddenly jerked, the movement muted by the bodies holding her down, but not her voice. Blue eyes, darker than the sky but lighter than the sea, shot open. Herah couldn't help but compare them to the color of sapphire, even when pain shot through them like lightning. Her jaw flew open, tendons in her neck straining against her skin as a scream bubbled up from her throat.

  
Herah was glad she had Krem clear out the main hall. The sound was terrifying, pain as pure as it came, reverberating through Herah’s skull and bouncing around the room with seemingly no exit. She felt the urge to scream as well, the primality calling to the most animalistic parts of herself.

  
Blood and pus billowed up from the gaping wound when Stitches pulled the knife back out.

  
“Clean it, give me the knife as big as your thumb,” he demanded, shoving the bloody tool at Herah. She felt the warm liquid trail down her wrist before she plunged it in the freezing water, placing a knife as big as a human thumb (because a knife as big as her own would surely be too big) in Stitches’ waiting hand. Without even acknowledging her, he plunged back in, holding the Hero’s skin apart with one hand as he went in with the other.

  
Herah had become accustomed to injury throughout her mercenary work, and then when she joined the Inquisition and she was subjected to injury by demon, but she would never get used to seeing someone’s insides. Especially doubled with the gurgling sobs of the insides’ owner.

  
Bull kept a steady weight on her legs, preventing their shocks and twitches from interfering with Stitches’ delicate work.

  
“Fuck,” the healer grunted. Vivienne's fingers twitched out of the corner of Herah’s eye. Apparently Stitches saw them too. “No, not yet, just…” He shifted something around, and Herah didn't want to think of what. “The infection is deeper than I thought.” He sighed. “We’re going to have to tip her to drain it.”

  
A collective groan.

  
“Mage, keep her inside from becoming outside,” he ordered. Vivienne’s lip curled in disgust. “Bull, Spymaster, we’re flipping on three. One, two, three!”

  
Bull grabbed the Hero by the hip and Leliana twisted her body in a move not unlike one used in battle, then she was on her side, another groan falling past bloody lips. Stitches shot onto the bed to lean over his trembling patient, swiftly but lightly poking the knife into her with a flick on his wrist. Yellow-white pus poured out.  
“Inquisitor, clean water and alcohol.” He held out a hand. “In that order.”

  
Herah bent down and grabbed a clean bucket of water, putting the handle in his palm. He had to hand Herah the knife to hold the bucket by the bottom, then he carefully tipped it over. A luminescent blue aura appeared around different parts of her intestines, Vivienne working to only hold in select organs and let the water run down. The Hero groaned louder then ended with a gag, and Herah didn't have to look to know she vomited on the pillow. She glanced up and saw Leliana gently extracting the dirty pillow from under her lover’s head and replacing it with the other clean one.

  
“Alcohol.”

  
“ _No._ ”

  
The room jumped and Leliana smoothed a hand over the Warden’s face. It took a moment for Herah to realize she was speaking.

  
“Please,” the Hero gritted. “For the love of the Maker, I can’t take it anymore.”

  
But Stitches didn't listen, barely paused. He snatched the bottle from Herah’s hand and moved to pour it over.

  
“Wait!” Herah blurted, and Stitches came to a reluctant stop. He turned to meet her worried gaze. “What if it kills her?”

  
Stitches sighed. “If we don't clean out the infection, she’ll die anyways. This isn't my favorite option, but it's the only thing I can think of, and we don't have much time before she starts seizing and rips herself open more,” he lamented before tilting the bottle.

  
Herah nearly winced in sympathy. This wasn't going to be pleasant. She could only hope this would be the worst part.

  
When the liquid found the infection, Herah couldn't look away. Blood dripped out, fortunately not as quickly because of the magic keeping it back. The flesh bubbled, and the Warden’s mouth hung open. Herah prepared herself for the gut-wrenching scream, but no noise came out. Silent agony, Herah knew, was the worst kind. Vocal chords couldn't express the intensity of pain. From what Herah had seen, soon the brain would decide that was it, and give in. The murky depths of unconsciousness were better than the endless pain of reality.

  
“Maker’s breath, not again,” Leliana hissed. Herah looked away from the wound to comfort her and inhaled sharply. The Hero’s eyes were still open, tears spilling out and pooling on Leliana’s lap. “Stop doing this to yourself! Why won't you just let _go?_ ”

  
The Hero groaned and Herah thought it sounded like an apology. Leliana sobbed, her own tears falling onto her Warden’s face. “Please.”

  
Herah was just about to plead with Leliana when finally, the Warden gave in, her eyes rolling back into her head and her body going limp. Herah sighed in relief and Leliana gave a shaky laugh. “You always did do whatever I asked,” she murmured, brushing her lover’s and her own tears off her cheeks.

  
“It’s clean,” Stitches declared. “Flip her back, switch the blanket.”

  
The group got to quick work, Herah jogging to the other side of the bed and waiting until Leliana and Bull lifted the Warden to jerk the bedding out, folding the blanket with the blood, pus, water, and alcohol on the inside, then quickly rolling a blanket under her. Bull caught the end and pulled it tight with one hand, holding her up with the other. With nothing more than a creak of springs, the Hero was set back down.

  
“You two can stop holding it, but be ready,” Stitches said, nodding to Vivienne and Solas. The two mages lowered their hands, the spirit magic that was emanating from the Hero’s stomach vanished. Holding his hand out again, Stitches asked for elfroot.

  
The round green leaves of elfroot were familiar to Herah. Elves were not the only ones who used them as a natural remedy. They smelled of mint and grass, sharp and always associated with healing in Herah’s head. The leaves were soft as petals, making them easy to crush and put into drinks. Herah picked up a handful and put it into his hand, careful not to break the leaves.

  
Stitches started taking whole leaves and placing them on the inside of the Hero’s body. Only about three were placed when he pulled back, setting the rest of the elfroot just to the side. He sighed and swiped a mostly-dry arm across his forehead, drying it of sweat. He accidentally smeared a bit of blood on his forehead, but he didn't seem to care.

  
“Here’s the plan,” he began, grabbing a chair that Herah had sitting around and pulling it up to the edge of the bed. “I’m going to let that sit for a little bit, try to take care of the inflammation. Shouldn't leave her open for too long, but I also want to make sure the fever doesn't spike too much. Mage, at the very least, stay nearby. Bull, stay so you can move our patient to another room-”

  
“No,” Herah interjected. “She’s alright. She can stay. I'll sleep with Sera.”

  
“You already do,” Bull snickered, cracking the solemn atmosphere. Herah smiled and Stitches rolled his eyes.

  
“Alright, then Iron Bull can stick around and help clean up. So can you, Inquisitor. I assume…” He trailed off, his voice growing quieter. “I assume the Spymaster wants to stay?”

  
“Yes, the Spymaster wants to stay,” Leliana called from across the room. “She can also speak for herself. I’m not as hysterical as the Inquisitor seems to think I am.”

  
Herah felt her face heat, and she knew she couldn't keep it from darkening with flush. Leliana’s lips turned up slightly at her expense, her eyes still red from crying.  
“Okay then, you stay. I’m going to close up our patient here in a little bit-”

  
He was cut off by the chilling sound of Leliana screaming “Elissa!” Stitches sprang into action, sprinting back to the bed where the Hero had begun to seize.

  
“Shit,” Bull grunted, practically leaping onto her thrashing lower body. Herah grabbed her hips while Leliana pinned her arms and shoulders.

  
“Shit, shit, shit,” Stitches exclaimed, pinching the leaves of elfroot and tossing them to the side. “Mage, keep her closed. We’re going have to flip her again.”

  
With a grunt, Herah helped tip her onto her side. A pink mixture of bubbly saliva and blood dripped out of the Hero’s mouth and onto the previously clean pillow. Herah knew she must have bitten her tongue. Leliana worried her own lip as she parted her lover’s. Herah could see the strain in her arms from prying open that iron jaw, but she managed to get it open enough that she wouldn't choke on her own fluids.

  
The glow was back, keeping her insides inside as she seized, her body wracked with great tremors and trying to shake out of Leliana, Bull, and Herah’s grasp. Stitches retrieved a needle and threaded it, ready for when she finally stilled and he could sew her up.

  
It seemed to go on forever, and Herah wiped her forehead against her sleeve. The Hero’s muscles had yet to relax even a smidge through the quaking her burning hot body put her through. Because she was wearing nothing but a loincloth, Herah’s palm was directly on the fiery hot and sweaty flesh of her hip. She could only hope to relieve the woman of some of the heat through contact.

  
“Maker's balls, this is a long one," Stitches grimaced. Herah gave her own noise of agreement to the general accord that rose up between the room’s occupants. A few moments later, with a drawn-out wheeze, the Hero dropped to the bed. They quickly tipped her onto her back and Stitches set to work giving her his namesake.

  
The needle slipped into her abdominal skin under the wound, then out, and into the skin over, pulling the two ends taught together without magic. In and out and in and out, over and over like the brush strokes of a painter. With one paint stroke, the Hero floated further away from death. With the other, she grew closer to the crying redhead that clutched her like she was all that was left in the world.

**Author's Note:**

> this is not part of my other series, Mortis. this Cousland, Elissa, is a totally different character from the Cousland in Mortis. jsyk i guess lol. i hate posting lmaoooo. I posted this in a random burst of courage so sorry if I don't update regularly. this is basically me trying to get over my fear of posting. i hope you enjoyed, tho! thanks for reading!!! ily!!!!!!


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